Burnout
by Beregond5
Summary: Before there was a Fullmetal Alchemist in the Amestrian military, a young soldier had to deal with his guilt.


_A/n: Special thanks go to Junodog for beta'ing the piece. :)_

* * *

He was sitting on the couch, reading a book in order to relax after a hard day at the office. But truth be told, Maes Hughes was feeling too giddy to relax, because the day proved to be an exceptionally good one. Not in terms of weather really – it was raining cats and dogs. More like in terms of receiving good news.

Earlier that afternoon, Gracia had accepted him as her boyfriend, sharing at last their first kiss. Moreover, he had also got his promotion to major, something on which he had been working hard for the last year. And thirdly, the war in Ishbal was over, and Roy would soon return in Central. Not only that, but he would return as a war hero, no less.

That didn't come as much of a surprise to Maes. The whole Headquarters was buzzing about how the young Major Roy Mustang started making a name among the soldiers as an alchemist of unmatched power, and how much he was feared by the Ishbalans, who called him in their tongue "Demon of Fire". Everyone was also saying how well-earned was the young man's promotion to Lieutenant Colonel after setting himself as such a brilliant example for all the other combating officers within the ranks in Ishbal, and that made Maes feel proud for his friend.

Roy always said that he wanted to make a difference in the military.

It seemed that he had finally got his chance.

All these joyous news naturally called for a celebration. And so when Roy would return, they would both go to their usual haunt two blocks away from Maes's house. They would most certainly get drunk enough to forget each other's name and acquire a head-splitting hangover the very next morning; but still, it would be worth it, because they were alive to taste such joys that life was offering them.

It was when his excitement had settled down and Maes managed to get himself immersed in the book once again that he heard a light, almost hesitant knock on the door.

That had the man frown. After all, Maes didn't expect that anyone would be outside while it was still pouring bucketfuls of water, much less visit him. Feeling his curiosity piqued, Maes stood up and looked out the window to get a glimpse of whoever it was on his doorstep.

He wasn't able to see a face; it was concealed by the hood of the stranger's overcoat. The head was bowed, and the form was standing as though accepting the whipping of the element of nature in numbing apathy. For a moment it seemed to Maes as though an ominous spectre had appeared in the flesh, taking advantage of the darkness the black clouds offered.

_Who…?_

It was then that Maes noticed the red and white gloves on the form's hands.

"Roy!" Maes exclaimed at once in astonishment, even though his friend couldn't possibly hear him above the noise of the rain or through the glass window. He hurried at the door and opened it at once, already saying: "When did you come back from--?"

But the moment Maes caught sight of Roy's face, his voice died in his throat. Because what he saw there sent a chill in his heart.

Roy's youthful face was filled with lines of anguish so deeply etched that it now seemed old and tired. The red lips, which used to be ready to tug in an unburdened smile or let out unabashed laughter, were now bloodless, forming a thin line that carried no emotion. And Roy's black eyes, which used to be bright as they reflected the joy and vitality within the young man's heart, were now staring at nothing, the life within them all but extinguished.

"Roy?" Maes asked cautiously, as though he was uncertain that it _was_ Roy before him.

Only then did the lacklustre gaze drift upwards – painfully slowly - to return Maes's look. Roy stared at the bespectacled man for many moments and, finally, a flicker of recognition sparked. A barely visible smile tugged on the lips and, for a moment, Maes thought that everything was all right after all.

But then the spark was put out by tears that sprang forth, ready to be shed at any moment.

"Maes…"

Roy didn't manage to say anything else, because his voice cracked and failed him, whereas his lips started quivering too violently. Nevertheless, the force with which he flung himself into Maes and embraced him spoke more loudly than any words of his ever could.

Maes didn't know how long he remained like this, arms instinctively wrapped around his friend in an attempt to protect him from the rain that was now falling mercilessly on both of them. Nevertheless, he didn't let go.

Truth be told, there wasn't much else he _could_ do. Not when Roy was like this.

To Maes's good fortune, it was over soon enough. Slowly, yet steadily, Roy's hands lost their grip on Maes's shirt until they fell almost lifelessly at Roy's sides. Only then did Maes say in a motherly murmur:

"Let's go inside, Roy."

Roy didn't answer, and he didn't resist as Maes gently guided him away from the rain and into the hall. Maes took off the drenched overcoat and placed it on the coat rack nearby.

When he turned around, he noticed the lifeless eyes fleetingly locking on the trail of mud and water that he and Roy had left behind.

"I'm sorry…"

It was a mere whisper, practically filled with the sorrow that still clung stubbornly on Roy's features.

"Don't think about it," Maes said at once in a soft tone, shaking his head. He stood once again in front of Roy, making sure that the black eyes were looking at him – it was the only way that Maes could know for sure that Roy was paying attention to him. "Do you remember where the living room is?"

There were several moments of silence before Roy managed to utter a strained: "Yeah."

Maes nodded slightly, more in reassurance that Roy was still with him than anything else. "Okay. Just go sit there and I'm gonna get something to warm you, all right?"

"All right."

The tone made Maes wince inwardly, yet he didn't have the luxury to think about it much. He hurried to the kitchen, all the while trying to figure out what would work better in Roy's condition. Tea didn't seem to be enough, whereas coffee wasn't the best choice to help distress.

That left one other option. Walking up to the counter, he opened up a small cupboard where he knew he had some brandy left.

Truly enough, he had enough for just one glass. Deeming that it was enough, Maes quickly poured it into a glass that was already on the counter, and then headed to the living room. He was halfway there when, upon reaching the hall, he saw on the floor some odd pieces of cloth next to a pair of boots that could only be Roy's.

They were red and white.

Before he could help himself, Maes sat on his heels and picked one of them up to look at it more closely. He bit his lower lip when he realized that his suspicions were, in fact, true.

They _were_ Roy's gloves.

Dropping the piece of cloth with a sigh, Maes stood up once again and entered the living room. Roy was already there, sitting on the couch just like Maes had told him to. However, his elbows were on his knees and the hands were knitted together, screening Roy's face from Maes's gaze.

Maes tried not to look at the fresh scratches on the palms and fingers or think about how his friend looked like the embodiment of despair. Instead, he slowly walked up to him, presenting the brandy.

Roy didn't take the alcohol that he was offered, or even make any sign that he had acknowledged Maes's presence for that matter. Seeing that there was nothing for it, Maes placed the brandy on a small table nearby and then sat beside Roy, eyes locked on him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he ventured.

Roy shook his head slowly.

_An answer, at last._

"Do you want me to call Headquar--?"

"No."

Maes almost flinched at how quickly and abruptly Roy said that, head snapping up and casting an angry look at the bespectacled man's direction.

"Not them, Maes."

Maes let out another sigh. "They'll want to know."

"And _I_ don't want them to," Roy snapped. He averted his gaze once more and remained staring at the floor. "They've done enough."

Maes's eyes widened, taking in the bitter words and feeling utterly lost. "Then what would you have me do?" he finally asked in exasperation.

Roy shrugged. When he answered, his tone was softer, almost apologetic.

"I don't know. I just... wanted to be here."

And Maes finally understood. Roy came here because this place was a haven in his eyes, and he could remain hidden from the cruel touch of reality of the outside world. Unsure and yet wishing to offer some kind of comfort, Maes approached Roy and placed one of his arms across the younger man's shoulders.

At the next moment, a hand grasped his own so tightly it almost hurt; but Maes didn't pull away.

Neither spoke for some time.

"Won't you tell me what happened?" This time Maes sounded almost pleading, wishing for Roy to talk to him in the name of the friendship that they had come to share.

Roy finally looked back; and this time, there was no emotion in the alchemist's features. "You won't like it."

"I'm ready for it."

"You'll never be."

Nevertheless, Roy told of everything. Of the war, of the deaths he caused, of his regrets. Even of the tempting solution that came every once in a while to tantalize his mind, urging him and seducing him to eternal liberation – only to be dismissed at the last minute.

"I guess I'm too much of a coward," he concluded with an indifferent snort.

Maes shook his head. "If you were really a coward, you would have done it." He heaved a sigh. "I'm glad you didn't."

"I'm not so sure."

They didn't exchange any other words. They simply remained there, holding each other in an embrace they had reserved for a brother neither of them ever got, until the darkness of the evening closed in on them. By then, Roy had surrendered himself to what Maes hoped was a healing sleep, and so the soldier gently helped the alchemist lie on the couch. Once he had placed an extra blanket he had over the sleeping form, he walked out, a single hopeful thought crossing his mind.

_Maybe everything will be better tomorrow._

When Maes woke up the next morning, however, there was no sign of Roy anywhere. The blanket was neatly folded on the couch, and the door was unlocked.

The alchemist was gone.

"Damn it, Roy…"

What if he…?

But Maes couldn't allow himself to believe that. He wouldn't allow _this _to happen.

And it was then that Maes made up his mind. He _would_ find Roy again, and when he did, he would offer his _own_ solution against the one that dared smother the fire in Roy's heart.

Roy always said he wanted to make a difference in the military.

Maes would give him that chance.

THE END


End file.
